all good things
by airbefore
Summary: They've tried. For months, they've tried to make it work, to force themselves into something that comes within a mile of being healthy and functional. They love each other desperately but it's not enough.


**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

The echo of their anger buzzes around them, blame and recriminations spoken in a blaze of fury stoked by truth. His last words press heavily on her chest and the weight pushes her off balance, sends her world spinning off its axis.

_This isn't working_.

She wants to fight. Rail. Slap him across the face and demand to know how he could let those thoughts breed, gain traction. The weight on her chest sinks down, lands hard in the pit of her rolling stomach. She feeds off it, lets the bile pushing up her throat fuel her anger and denial, lets it crash through her veins in a violent current, drowning the truth of his words until she can no longer hear them. She turns back to face him, the rage at his audacity, at his willingness to just give up, riding ferociously on the tip of her tongue.

The resigned sadness on his face hits her like a fist in the chest. The anger rushes out with the air in her lungs and all she's left with is an empty pit where her heart used to be. He's right. They've tried. For months, they've tried to make it work, to force themselves into something that comes within a mile of being healthy and functional. They love each other desperately but it's not enough.

It's not working.

She gulps in a breath, the harsh sting of tears pushing against her eyelids. Her hand shakes as she reaches out to him, the crack in her chest widening when he shrinks away from her touch. She moves closer to him on unsteady legs, wraps her hands around his biceps and sinks into his chest. She's always been fascinated by the size of him; how her fingers disappear into the glove of his palm, the way the cradle of his arms makes her feel tiny and precious, revered. The comfort of waking up with his massive chest pressed hotly against her back, shielding her from the bleakness even in sleep.

Her shoulders shake as he pulls her close, one hand pressed over the base of her spine, the other fisting tightly in her hair. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice breaking. His arm snakes around her waist, holding her more tightly to his chest. "We tried." She nods against his shoulder, the soft cotton of his t-shirt cool against her chin. "I'm sorry," he repeats, his breath hot and damp against her cheek. "I'm so sor-"

She swallows his apologies with the press of her lips, pushes them back into him with the glide of her tongue. It's no one's fault. Not his or hers. Her fingers raise to twine through his hair as she kisses him, tries to tell him with the sharp edge of her teeth that she forgives him. Forgives herself. He moans darkly into her mouth and opens under her, lets her apologies and love pour over his lips and tongue, wash away the blame and anger, leaving only truth.

His hands are warm on her back, fingers splayed wide over the length of her spine, his thumb brushing lightly against the nape of her neck. She pushes herself into him, tries to bridge the emotional chasm with the planes and curves of her body. Her want for him as always been powerful but it's the need that surges up now. The need to feel him over under inside her.

Her hands slide down his chest and she pushes up under the hem of his shirt, her nails scraping lightly over his stomach. His hips pitch forward and she wants to cry at the perfection of it. The tears press hotly against her eyelids but she holds them back, refuses to let this happen in a flood of sadness. If this is going to be the last time, she wants it to be perfect. She _needs_ it to be perfect. For her and for him.

They deserve at least that much.

His hands slip down to curve around her ass, her jeans rubbing roughly against her skin as he kneads his fingers into her. She pushes his shirt off and her mouth falls to his chest, lips open and feathering, the salty tang of his skin coating her tongue and cheeks. She works at the buttons of her own shirt as her lips follow well worn paths over his body, stopping along the way to nip or suck at spots that are a particular favorite of hers or his. The places that she's spent hours mapping and marking, memorizing how they feel under her lips and fingers in the dark of night or the break of dawn. She could traverse his body blindfolded, the image of it seared upon her mind.

Her shirt drifts to the floor and he sets upon her neck, his breathing shallow, chest stuttering. Her name breaks apart in his mouth when his lips glide across her collarbone, the sharp lines of the consonants slicing at her skin. She hushes his lament with the rough drag of her teeth, her fingers pulling at his belt. The silver buckle clatters against the hardwood floor and he wraps his hands around her thighs, scoops her up, her legs wrapping low around his hips.

The bed is cool against her bare back and she arches up into the warm wall of his chest, her body seeking his heat. His comfort. He tugs off her pants and his own, stands panting at the foot of the bed. His eyes trace over her body hungrily and she lets him look. Watches him as he memorizes the shape of her body splayed out across the sheets, her hair fanning over the pillow, skin contracting and prickling in the draft of refrigerated air pouring out of the vents.

He stares at her for an eternity, his arms hanging limp by his sides, tears glistening in his eyes. When she thinks he's going to give in to the sadness, she raises her right hand, beckons him closer. She sighs when he settles over her, the heavy press of his body pushing her down, the mattress moulding to the curve of her spine. His hands follow the path his eyes blazed, fingertips skating over familiar swaths of naked skin as though for the first time. Hesitant. Slow.

She kisses him deeply, crying out into the wet cavern of his mouth when he slips two fingers inside her, filling her. He hovers over her, his fingers steady and slow as he works her up, pushes her toward the peak he's lead her to with his hands and his mouth, his body and his words, a hundred times before. The tears threaten to spill when she feels her orgasm roll gently through her stomach, her body seemingly understanding the gravity of the situation. She comes quietly, her arms wrapped tightly around his chest, hands cupped over his shoulder blades.

He shifts over her, bracing himself on his elbows, his bent knees planted between her spread thighs. She meets his eye as he pushes into her, sliding in as slowly as he possibly can. Her fingers trace over his face, smoothing out the lines of worry and fear. He opens his mouth to speak but she shakes her head. They don't need it.

This says it all.

_I'm sorry. I love you. I'll miss you. _

_Goodbye._

(She leaves the ring on his nightstand when she goes, her heart resting right alongside.)


End file.
